Little Black Dress
by rosesinjanuary
Summary: Grissom, Sara, suit, sexy dress. Need I say more?


A/N: I have a post-9x02 fic germinating, but right now I am taking refuge in _my_ happy place, which is fluff.

Takes place late season six/early season seven-ish. No real spoilers. I just think that it's a sin that a woman as beautiful as Sara has never gotten to look hot onscreen.

* * *

He found the dress one day when she asked him to grab her coat out of the closet for her.

Grissom held up the hanger and raised his eyebrows at her. "Why do you have a black dress in the back of your coat closet?"

Sara groaned inwardly. She owned very few things that she found embarrassing; trust him to have found one of them. "Uh…I haven't worn it in years. And I needed the space in the bedroom closet." Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at the traitorous article of clothing for a minute. "Did you get my jacket?"

He was eying the dress oddly. "Hm? Oh, sorry." He hung the dress carefully back in the closet, and got handed her the jacket she'd asked for. "I didn't even know you owned a dress."

She shrugged as she busied herself with a quick check through her purse. "Just that one. A friend of mine back in San Francisco practically forced me to buy it one day when I mistakenly agreed to go on a double date with her – the guy wouldn't go unless she could dig up a date for his friend who was visiting from out of town. She caught me before I was fully caffeinated." She looked up to find Grissom patiently holding out her jacket, still staring at her curiously. "What?" she said irritably, grabbing the coat from him and pulling it on. "I had a life before I moved here. I also own skirts, you know. You've seen me in them...I think…"

Grissom chuckled. "There was one extremely ugly skirt involved in an FBI undercover operation, though I was mostly too distracted by my gut-wrenching fear for your life to pay much attention to it. And you currently, as far as I can tell from your closet, own only two skirts, one of which I've never seen you wear, and one of which belongs to a suit you used to wear for court three years ago." He smiled. "It's a pretty dress, Sara. It was just an unexpected thing to find in your closet."

Huffing out a mildly annoyed breath, she closed the closet door with a tad more force than was necessary. "Come on," she said, flipping off the kitchen light. "We're going to be late for work."

* * *

It was nearly a month later that she knocked on his door, swallowing her nerves. Grissom answered the door with a smile, which turned slightly puzzled when he saw that she wore a long black dress coat and – she saw his eyes flick to her feet – heels. "Hi," he said finally. "What exactly did you have planned for tonight? Because I think I'm underdressed."

Sara grinned. "Don't worry, we've got time for you to change." She walked past him into his kitchen. "Put on your suit, Dr. Grissom. We're going out." Mentally taking a deep breath, she took off her coat and slung it over a chair, then turned to look at him, leaning back on her elbows against his kitchen island.

Grissom was very, very good at maintaining his standard neutral expression. So it did give her just a little thrill when he started, blinked, and his mouth fell open just a bit.

She hadn't even been sure the dress would still fit. Black, slightly clinging fabric. A neckline that dipped just low enough to show off her collarbone, with a keyhole opening that revealed a good slice of skin below that. Long sleeves, gathered at the wrists, but slashed along their length, so every time she moved he caught glimpses of her arms. And a skirt just the classy side of indecent, which exposed the majority of her legs.

Judging by the height at which his gaze had stopped, those were taking up most of his attention.

She blew out a relieved breath and allowed him a moment to stare before waving two tickets in his line of vision. "Griss," she said quietly, getting his attention. He looked back up at her, his gaze slightly stunned. "The opera is in town. Everyone else is at work, and plus, none of them would be caught dead at the opera unless someone was murdered there. We have dinner reservations at a very nice restaurant just out of town, and you need to get changed so that we've got time to eat."

"Opera?" His voice was mildly confused.

"Your favorite. Plus..." One corner of her mouth quirked up. "I saw the way you looked at this dress the other day, and somehow it doesn't lend itself to a quiet dinner at home."

He was still staring at her, a faintly bemused smile on his face. She shifted, suddenly self-conscious. "What?" she asked. "Just because I never _do_ all the…" she gestured vaguely at herself, "girl…stuff…all the time doesn't mean I don't know _how._"

Grissom stepped in close to her, so close she felt his breath on her cheek. "Sara," he said. "Let me preface this statement with the fact that I think that you are beautiful all the time. When you have been working for ten hours and smell like decomp, when you are wearing ten layers of clothes in the desert at night, when you have just gotten out of the shower and your hair is a mess. You are _always_ beautiful to me. Having said that..." He brushed a kiss over her left cheek, her right. "You are breathtaking."

He kissed her lips lightly. "Now I'm going to change. Though I don't know why I'm bothering, because if I'm out with you, nobody is going to even be looking at me."

* * *

He backed her up to the car in the parking lot after the performance, loosely trapping her against the door between his arms. "Why are you wearing a dress that you haven't worn in years?" he asked.

Sara smiled. "I thought it might be fun. I wanted to see how you reacted. Which was completely worth the effort, by the way." Her slight heels brought them exactly eye-to-eye, and she leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly. "I haven't worn the dress in years because I never really liked dressing up. When you look the least bit sexy, men always assume you're doing it for _them_. Even if you're just dressing up to make yourself feel good, they assume you dressed to get their attention, and they think that gives them certain...rights."

Head tilted a bit to the side, Grissom studied her intently. "And you didn't think I would assume that."

She shook her head. "No. And even if you did, it wouldn't matter. Because I _did_ wear it for you, I _am_ dressing to get your attention, and…" Sara reached behind her, pulled the car door open, and slid inside, "you have _all_ the rights – of any type – that you would like."

Grissom's face had _that_ look...the one that made her stomach clench and her toes curl under.

"Plus," she said, dropping him a slow, flirtatious wink, "I happen to love the way you look in a suit. And I figured if I made plans and dressed up, you'd have to dress up too." She closed the door and watched him circle to the driver's side, never taking his eyes off her.

Her lips tightened to hide her grin. It was going to be a very, _very_ good night.


End file.
